[English] Consequences

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The internship was an easy ploy to rid her of Simon. Watching the sadness from Claire and Simon Johnson’s family, there was a part of Tony which hated what happened, but it was Simon’s fault. He should have just left Claire alone—but no. His actions in Chicago resulted in the consequences today in Madison.

Tony beheld his wife’s sleeping face on his leg. That day—so many years ago—she’d been all alone. Today, he did what he wanted to do then—it was him—not Emily and—not John. Claire needed him. This wasn’t an occasion for smiles, but knowing she was asleep—he grinned.

*

As they landed in Iowa, Tony gently woke his wife. It was only 6:00 PM, but the sky was dark and spitting snow. They hurried from the plane to the warm waiting car. Once they were within the warm confines of the BMW, Tony asked Claire a question, “Where would you like to go for our anniversary?”

Obediently, she replied, “Some place sunny and warm.” The desire she didn’t say aloud was—alone.

Anyone can give up. It’s the easiest thing in the world to do. But to hold it together when everyone else would understand if you fell apart, that’s true strength.

—Unknown

Chapter Forty-Five

‡

November fluctuates between autumn and winter. Technically, winter doesn’t begin until after the winter solstice, but as it approaches, the days dramatically decrease in length and the darkness increases. Some days in November include brilliant blue skies and crisp, intense sunshine. The contrast and fluctuations in weather and life created the unpredictable pressures defining Claire’s existence. She stressed when Tony was good because she knew it may not last. She worried when he was bad because she knew how bad he could be.

During a private girls’ lunch, Courtney approached the subject again. Since the completion of the silent auction, the frequency of their lunch dates had decreased. Claire desperately missed them. Therefore, following Simon’s memorial, she was elated to receive another invitation accompanied by Tony’s eagerness for her to accept. He said, “I think you need some fun.” She couldn’t have agreed more.

The two ladies spent the afternoon in Bettendorf eating, shopping, walking, and talking. Courtney knew about Simon. She knew an old friend of Claire’s had approached her at one of Tony’s speaking events and that Tony wasn’t pleased. She didn’t know the entire story. She also knew about Simon’s sudden death and Tony’s remarkable support.

Courtney made Claire laugh—and in Claire’s precarious state of mental health—that was monumental. Courtney talked about the impending holidays. She expectantly waited for her children to return home from their points of interest and settle in for holiday celebrations. Claire liked the Simmons children—who weren’t really children. They were in their twenties—one still in graduate school—the other beginning a career as an investment banker in St. Louis. Neither was married, but their son Caleb had a steady girlfriend. Courtney liked her and hoped Caleb would propose soon. She and Brent wanted to be grandparents. It seemed strange to Claire that she was only two years older than Caleb and yet, Courtney was her best friend.

Another exciting topic for Courtney was her impending trip. It seemed that Tony finally recognized Brent’s hard work and awarded him a substantial Christmas bonus. He told Brent before the holidays so Brent could plan a nice surprise for Courtney; however, Brent didn’t want to risk Courtney’s disapproval, so he included her in the planning from the beginning. They were to going to go to Fiji—a trip similar to Tony and Claire’s honeymoon. Refusing to miss Christmas with their children, Brent and Courtney weren’t leaving until after the first of the year. Courtney asked Claire a lot of questions about Fiji. Courtney’s excitement was contagious—Claire told Courtney everything she could remember—mostly the destination equaled paradise and don’t worry about packing too many clothes—they didn’t seem to stay on in paradise.

Courtney understood Claire’s privacy issues. Most of their confidential discussions occurred while walking or driving. Claire couldn’t risk someone overhearing. “Honey, I’m really worried about you. I know losing a friend is hard, but it just seems like you have been going down since before Simon’s death.”

Claire didn’t even try to act fine. “I just don’t know. I feel empty and tired all the time.”

“If there is anything I can do for you”—she squeezed Claire’s hand—“I’ll do it.”

“I think afternoons like this are the best medicine.”

Courtney agreed laughter would help—so they laughed. They walked in shops—read funny cards and plaques—and had fun.

When Claire returned to the estate that night, she felt lighter. She tried with all her might to continue the feeling into her home and her suite. The fact Tony tried to help, wasn’t lost on Claire. He immediately showed her an e-mail from Emily and volunteered, “She wants you to call early—before John gets home. I think you should call before dinner.”

Together, they went to Tony’s office and Claire tried again—she’d been trying to reach Emily since the first of November. It had been nearly two weeks. This time Emily answered on the first ring. “Hello?”

Talking on the speaker phone, Claire replied, “Hi, Emily, it’s Claire. We’ve been worried. Is everything all right?”

“I don’t think so. I asked you to call early so I could talk before John came home.”

“I was out with Courtney today. I called as soon as I got your e-mail.” That was all true.

“John isn’t home yet. Is Anthony there?”

Claire hesitated, should she lie or be truthful? “He is. Do you want to talk to him?”

“I don’t know, maybe he can help.” Tony looked at Claire and raised his eyebrows.

Claire offered, “I could put you on speaker phone—so he can hear too.”

Emily said that would be a good idea. Tony pushed a button to create an audible change and said hello. When Emily said hello, they heard her voice crack.

Claire enquired, “Emily, what’s wrong?”

“You know the deadline for partnership decisions was the first?” Claire said she did, Tony acknowledged her audibly too. “Well, it’s been extended,” Emily added.

Claire broke in—always the optimist, “So, that’s not necessarily bad, they’re still undecided.”

“But now the au***or, the person verifying all the accounting information, is questioning John—a lot. John has been asked to verify everything. He’s rummaging through old records and spending hour after hour documenting and authenticating his previous work”—Claire and Tony were engaged in concerned eye contact.

Tony responded first, “Emily, I’m sure it’s some kind of formality—John works for a very prestigious firm. They just want every T crossed and every I dotted.”

“Anthony, I hope you’re right”—they could hear her sniffles—“He pretends to be unconcerned, but I can tell that isn’t the case.”

Claire offered, “He’s probably sick of the controlling procedure and stress”—she could relate—trying to rationalize and validate every move you make can become tiresome.

“I believe he’s offended. Claire, you know John. He’d never do anything that wasn’t completely honest and honorable.”

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Claire debated her response. She feared adding to John’s fan club. Nevertheless, before she could formulate her answer, Tony replied, “We did our research prior to offering John a job. I know he’s one of the most honest and honorable attorneys anywhere.”

Claire scanned her husband’s expression. She only saw sincerity. She added, “I second that—Em. It’ll be okay. Let them scrutinize John’s records, there’s nothing dishonest or deceitful to discover.”

“Thank you—really—both of you. John didn’t want me telling you. That’s why I haven’t answered your calls, but I really wanted you to know.”

Claire felt her internal time clock ticking. “Emily, please keep us posted—”

Tony interrupted, “If I can be of any assistance—perhaps we can get together for Thanksgiving again this year”—Claire watched her husband with astonishment as he continue speaking—“We could meet in New York City or, maybe closer to Troy, if that’d be easier for you.”

Emily thanked them both—she’d think about Thanksgiving. She appreciated Anthony’s offer of help. It was nice to just talk with them. “I promise to keep you updated. I better go in case John gets home soon. Thank you.”

They hung up.

Claire had been upset with Tony for almost two months. She despised him for his reaction in Chicago. His behavior that night had repulsed her. She detested the way he treated her in California. On some level, she even loathed the fact Simon idolized him, yet he had tried on numerous occasions to make amends. Only superficially had she accepted his pleas. Those shallow recognitions were mainly a form of self-preservation, a ploy to pacify him, but at that moment—as he disconnected the line—she overwhelmingly, without reservation, appreciated and cherished her husband.

The realization almost immobilized her. Every ounce of her being had been opposed to him—similar to like ends of magnets. Her self-therapy suddenly realized that all of her energy had been consumed continually fighting the repulsion and forcing herself to be near him. No wonder she was so drained; however, as he hung up the phone—her magnet flipped—suddenly—instead of repulsion—she felt attraction. The relief engulfed her and her mask evaporated; Claire’s expression became sincere. “Thank you, Tony.” She went to him and hugged him.

He seemed to recognize the difference in her touch as he looked down into her green eyes, and said, “I need to keep working.”

She didn’t understand—thinking he was saying he had work to do. She pushed away to let him continue his business, when he gently pulled her back into his embrace. Claire looked up into his soft brown eyes, as he said, “No, Claire, I need to keep working to be a man you’re proud to call your husband.”

Claire buried her face in his chest. Without a doubt, there would be mascara on his very expensive suit. He lifted her chin. “I need to work to be the man Mrs. Johnson thinks I am.”

Later that night, they laughed, cuddled, and talked. Their interaction hadn’t been playful for months. Claire was giddy from the release of tension and stress. For the first time in ages, her head didn’t pound. She wasn’t worried about John; he was beyond reproach. Everything there would resolve itself. The looming question had been here. Unexpectedly, she believed it too had been resolved. Realistically, the resolution wouldn’t be permanent, but she would enjoy the reprieve.

Emily e-mailed them the following week, declining Tony’s Thanksgiving invitation. She sincerely appreciated his offer, but John barely took time to eat. He worked continually to rectify the inquiry.

Tony saw Claire’s disappointment and offered a trip anywhere for the holiday. Claire decided she’d rather stay home and celebrate an old-fashioned Thanksgiving with her husband. She wanted to cook him a tra***ional Thanksgiving dinner. He looked concerned, but agreed with one stipulation—she would allow him to plan a getaway for their anniversary and Christmas. Claire agreed.

Giving the entire staff the day off, they lived through Thanksgiving dinner and even survived the carbohydrate overdose. Claire cooked turkey, stuffing, mashed potatoes, gravy, yams, yeast rolls, pumpkin pie, and vegetables. Tony obligingly ate some of everything, saying he liked it all; however, the exorbitant amount of calories contained within the meal far exceeded their usual diet. They both feared they would explode before the pumpkin pie with whipped cream was served.

Although she enjoyed cooking, Claire forgot how much she disliked cleaning. Tony encouraged her to leave it—the staff would take care of it the next day. Somewhere in the recesses of her mind, Claire heard her mother and grandmother—leaving the mess for someone else, was unacceptable. Claire told Tony to watch football, and she’d take care of the kitchen. To Claire’s surprise, Mr. Anthony Rawlings joined his wife in their kitchen and scrubbed pans, counters, and stove tops. Watching him, Claire decided—he was even ***ier washing dishes than he was in blue jeans.

After Thanksgiving, the house burst with Christmas decorations. Catherine told Claire that prior to her presence there hadn’t been any decorations. Claire found that hard to believe. She hadn’t asked for them; nevertheless, she did enjoy them.

This year’s display wasn’t as extravagant as it had been for the wedding—but it was festive. It was the perfect setting as they entertained friends and some of Tony’s business associates. Claire was happy to open the house for others to see its merry charm.

On the Saturday before their anniversary, they boarded Tony’s plane, and flew west. This time Hawaii was their destination. On their trip to Fiji, Tony had promised Claire the opportunity to enjoy the Hawaiian Islands. Being a man of his word, they had a ten day trip planned. Reminiscent of their honeymoon, they stopped in Los Angeles to refuel and continued another six hours to the island of Oahu, landing in Honolulu.

The difference with this trip was Claire knew her journey’s end. She understood that when they landed in Honolulu they needed to board an inter-island flight to take them to the island of Lanai. It was a romantic getaway—not as secluded as their private island in Fiji—but an island paradise nonetheless. Tony had asked Claire what she wanted—she’d said sunshine and warmth—Tony delivered.

Claire hadn’t told Tony—or anyone—that she wanted to go alone. Nevertheless, Lanai was as secluded as you could get, and Claire was happy to be alone—with her husband.

This time they had an exquisitely spectacular suite in a resort, complete the panoramic views of the Pacific Ocean. Without a doubt, Claire’s favorite amenity in Hawaii was their large private lanai which included a cabana bed, an intimate dining table, and lounge chairs. Tony explained that they’d have the suite for the entire stay, but they would also spend a few nights on other islands.

Since Tony now understood that Claire enjoyed sightseeing, he planned excursions for Kauai, Oahu, and the Big Island. Kauai’s spectacular cliffs, canyons, rainforests, and picturesque beaches took them two days and one night of exploration. Claire treasured being on Lumahai Beach, the place where South Pacific was filmed. In her mind, she could see Mary Martin singing. Tony also arranged a private sea tour. They saw spinner dolphins, monk seals, green sea turtles, as well as natural wonders, the Na Pai Coast, open ceiling ****, and Honopu Valley Arch.

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The day they spent on Oahu, they arrived early on an inter-island plane, rented a car, and Tony drove them around the island. They reverently visited Pearl Harbor—walking hand in hand and reading plaques and names. Tony drove them up Pali Highway through trees and dense forest vegetation until the city below disappeared, and they found themselves in the clouds. It was Nuuanu Pali Outlook. They could see the Koolau Cliffs, amazingly lush coastline, and mountain peaks all from the stone terrace one thousand feet above the Oahu coast. The view was spectacular.

That evening, they returned to Lanai for more private and sensual explorations. Neither of them moved fast or needy. Instead, they both were thorough, sensual, and loving. The sea breeze and sound of the surf provided the ultimate aphrodisiac, and their lovemaking went on and on.

On the Big Island they enjoyed a two-hour helicopter tour of Volcano Park. This was a first-time experience for both of them, and they found the process of creation and destruction thrilling. Claire couldn’t help remembering the volcano on Mount Etna in Sicily, also active. In one year she had witnessed two active volcanoes erupting violently, yet without peril. Something told her she was pushing her luck. The pilot explained to them that Pele, the Volcano Goddess who lives in the volcano, was very unpredictable. It could continue to erupt for another one hundred years or it could quit tomorrow. Claire nodded her head; she understood unpredictability.

After the helicopter tour, they spent a few hours hiking trails which took them directly into volcanic craters, scalded deserts and rainforest, and a petroglyph. She had read about them, but to be in a volcanic tube exhilarated her. Another Big Island activity Tony insisted they complete was to walk on the Black Sand Beach. Claire didn’t think she would like black sand, sand, after all, is supposed to be white, but it was unusual and magnificent. Removing their shoes, Claire felt the warmth of the black sand under her feet. She’d expected it to be hot. Actually, she’d experienced hotter white sand in Florida, another unpredictable conclusion.

Christmas day they spent on Lanai in their suite. Claire was prepared for the holiday this year. She had a gift for Tony, an exquisite d. Freemont Swiss watch which she’d purchased on Rodeo Drive in October. If he’d seen the bill—he hadn’t said a thing. On Christmas morning, he acted surprised and delighted—Claire knew how he appreciated punctuality.

Also planning ahead, Tony had a gift for Claire; however, his gift wasn’t as extravagant. Actually, it was very basic and left her speechless. He placed his surprise in a slightly larger black velvet box, the kind that might contain a necklace. At first, she thought he forgot her comment about black velvet boxes, but his grin told her otherwise. Slyly he said, “It isn’t jewelry, so I thought I could use a black box, but if you don’t want it—” He started to pull the box away.

Smiling, she replied, “No, I want it.” She grabbed the box—her curiosity getting the better of her. She lifted the lid to reveal a basic calling and texting only—cellular telephone. In times past, she’d opened velvet boxes to lavish diamonds and gold which hadn’t moved her like this inexpensive cellular phone.

With her emerald eyes glistening, Tony decided the accompanying lecture could wait.

Claire felt like she received the milestone of liberties. It was a wonderful Christmas. That night, lying on the cabana bed under the stars, they listened to the sound of waves in the distance. Completely relaxed, spooning in front of her husband, Claire’s mind went back to a snowy afternoon in Tony’s suite. That afternoon she’d made requests. She’d also made a request as they lay upon a rug in Lake Tahoe. Tonight, she realized, they’d all been granted. As her mind started to slip into sleep, she heard Tony say, “Merry Christmas, my love”—she hugged his strong arms—“What are you thinking?”

Claire turned to face him. “I was thinking that I have everything—everything I asked for. Thank you”—she kissed his lips—“I love you.” They drifted off to sleep.

They arrived back to Iowa on December 28 where snow blanketed the estate and the decorations glistened. Tony had a meeting in Chicago on December 29. Worn-out from their trip, Claire decided to stay home. She told Tony she’d try to appreciate the Midwest winter until he returned.

Sometimes it’s the smallest decisions that can change your life forever.

—Keri Russell

Chapter Forty-Six

‡

Tony’s lecture regarding his gift came on the plane ride home. It started as operational instructions, which Claire considered this futile; she’d received her first cell phone in middle school and knew how to dial a number, answer a call, send a text message, and receive one. Nevertheless, his lessons did contain useful information—her telephone was linked to his computer and iPhone. If she received a call or text—he received a notification. If she sent a text or made a call—he received a notification. He even had an application allowing him to access telephone numbers and the entire content of text messages. Claire told herself—compartmentalize—she had a cell phone.

He instructed her to only answer calls from numbers programmed into her phone with an asterisk. Examples—*Tony Cellular—*Home Private—and *Eric. There were other numbers programmed into her phone—Emily cell, John V. Cell, Vandersol home, Courtney S., MaryAnn F., etc. They could leave voicemails or texts and then, together they’d listen or read and decide appropriate responses. Claire obediently listened and sighed, this is ridiculous!

“You asked for me to be able to contact you directly. This will accomplish what you asked.”

She pressed her lips together, he’s right—I did and it will. She wanted more! Deciding to capitalize on the Christmas spirit, she pushed, “Maybe I could at least text Courtney and Sue back immediately—I mean—after all—didn’t you say you can read the texts in real time from your iPhone?” Her husband made a fortune with the Internet, he had technology which allowed him to watch, listen, and monitor her every move—she knew that.

He contemplated his answer. “We’ll start with my rules. After a time, we can revisit them.”

She submitted. He hadn’t closed the subject. It was a minor victory—or a minor defeat. Either way, it wasn’t the end of the war.

They celebrated New Year’s Eve at their home with friends. The Simmons, their son Caleb and his fiancée Julia, Tim and a six-month pregnant Sue, and Tom and Beverly all had a wonderful time. Together, they spent most of the evening in the lower level, playing cards and pool, drinking champagne, talking, and laughing.

Courtney couldn’t contain her enthusiasm regarding their son’s engagement. Julia appeared overwhelmed by her overly zealous future mother-in-law. Claire couldn’t help herself. She offered Julia some advice, “Smile and give in. It makes life a lot easier.” Although the young couple hadn’t set a date for their wedding, Courtney told Claire she may have more charitable responsibilities this year. Courtney planned on helping Julia as much as possible with the wedding. Claire read Julia’s expression and whispered in her ear, “I promise to talk to her later.”

Julia smiled. “Thank you.”

Tim and Sue’s baby was due March 20—all the women oowwd and ahhhed at Sue’s growing midsection. It made Claire think, she and Tony had never discussed children. About six months before she met Tony, she had the birth control insert implanted. In hindsight, that’d been fortuitous; however, considering Tony’s age, maybe it was a subject they should discuss.

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Together, they all welcomed the New Year with enthusiasm. “To another great year for everyone and for Rawlings Industries!” Everyone tapped glasses. Claire and Tony both told the Simmons how fantastic Fiji would be. Claire added, “We can’t wait to hear all about it”—then she smiled—“Well, not all about it.”

Courtney blushed. Tony embraced Claire—she’d filled him in on her packing advice—they kissed. Brent looked at Courtney questionably. She grinned. “I’ll explain later.” That made them giggle some more. The year began with a bang.

Although Tony contacted Claire directly each evening, she didn’t feel like she’d gained any liberties regarding communication. Emily had her number and would leave text messages and voicemails. Claire could read them or listen to them, but she couldn’t respond until Tony’s input was added. She learned deleting texts or voicemails was strictly forbidden—apparently, it implied hiding. She didn’t ask, but wondered why? If Tony had access to every text, why did he need to see it—on her phone—before she deleted it?

The Simmons left for Fiji, and Tony missed Brent. Claire found it amusing. He would never admit Brent’s full worth, yet his absence left Tony lacking. She planned to share this secret knowledge upon their return. Courtney asked Claire to fill in with her multiple charities during her absence. Being January—the heart of her winter blues—Claire happily agreed to the ad***ional tasks. Unfortunately, Claire agreed to help Courtney without first consulting Tony.

“I agree they’re admirable charities. I don’t think you need to be gone that much.”

“It’s only for two weeks, and I already said I would help.”

“You agreed without discussing it. Did you forget about your responsibilities here? I certainly hope you’re not having memory problems—again.”

“I didn’t forget, and I’m sorry. I just wanted to help a friend. I promise nothing will go undone here.”

“You’re right, because you won’t be going, or do you not feel taking care of your husband is important?”

Claire knew her pleas were useless. “Tony, I’m sorry.”

She called each organization—“I’m truly sorry I won’t be able to attend your meeting. It seems that I’ve double booked my calendar. If you could e-mail the information, I’ll forward it to Mrs. Simmons.” Those calls were made on the speaker feature of her new phone with her husband present. Suddenly, her calendar was open to Tony’s whims.

Although Tony would never admit it, Claire believed these consequences resulted more from Brent’s absence than from her insubordination. Her attraction toward her husband was waning. Experience taught her it was a cyclical process—it would wane and then it would wax. She encouraged herself to be patient for the wax.

This January was less snowy than the last, which helped Claire’s disposition. Less snow meant fewer clouds, and more sunshine. The Iowa air still registered below freezing, but the view from her suite wasn’t of frozen white tundra. The winter, combined with the feeling unpredictability was predictably returning, giving her the teetering on the fence sensation from before. Continuing her personal self-therapy, Claire reminded herself Courtney would be back in another week and spring was only three months away.

Admittedly, more of an attempt to pacify than an act of devotion, she tried desperately to alleviate Tony’s concerns. She obediently waited for him each evening, dressed appropriately for his arrival, attentively listened to his day and concerns, discussed her e-mails, texts, voicemails, and expressed her undying affection. She even chose to not pursue the e-mails and text messages from Emily. That was, until she heard a recent voicemail. The distress in her sister’s voice was unnerving. She respectfully asked Tony if they could call.

They did, from Claire’s telephone. Having her cell phone saved the long walk to his office. They tried three times and didn’t receive an answer. Tony willingly agreed to try again later. When they finally reached Emily, the information from the call was difficult for Claire to fathom—John had been accused of fraudulent billing. The Vandersols were devastated.

The next morning, Claire opened her eyes and realized she was waking in Tony’s bed. The feeling of disorientation came more from her concern over her family, than from the dark surroundings. She rolled toward him, but he was gone. The clock read 7:03 AM. If she hurried to the dining room, she might catch him before he left for work. She wanted to thank him again for the ability to talk to her sister during this difficult time. Truth be known, she hoped her gratitude would facilitate her opportunity *****pport Emily in the future. She put on slippers and her cashmere robe and walked to the dining room. The rich aroma of coffee met her halfway down the corridor. Tony was at the head of the table, drinking coffee, his plate empty, and his laptop open. When Claire entered the room, he looked up. “Good morning, my dear. You look beautiful this morning.”

She made a face. “I think you need an eye exam”—she gave him a kiss, and continued—“I just wanted to catch you before you left.” Claire sat down at the table and Catherine poured her coffee. “I wanted to tell you how much I appreciated talking to Emily. It’s a difficult time for them”—she added some cream and watched the ivory liquid swirl into the black abyss. Then she looked up into his eyes, wondering if they were the color of the coffee with or without the cream, and added—“And I wanted to let you know I’ll miss you.” Claire smiled at his cream filled eyes as she spoke.

“Good news, I’m working from home today.”

Claire’s heart sank, she really wanted alone time to contemplate the John thing; however, her smile never faltered.

Tony continued, “So you won’t need to miss me.”

“That’s great! Do you have a lot of work?”

“A few web conferences and phone calls, but don’t worry, I know your schedule is free. I have some ideas for us too.” The smile and the way his eyes shone made Claire question his ideas. She would be glad when Brent returned. This Tony made her uneasy. She detested the dual personalities.

Sipping her coffee, she replied, “All right, I need to work out and clean up. I came down here in a hurry to see you.”

“When you’re dressed come to my office,” he said. As he stood to leave, he paused to touch her shoulder.

Obediently, she replied, “I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

He kissed her cheek. “Or you could visit before you dress?” his tone, suddenly playful.

She touched his hand. “If I do that, you may not get your work done.” He reluctantly agreed and went to his office. She smiled at his attire: shirt, tie, NYU sweatpants, socks, and slippers. That comment to Vanity Fair had been truthful.

Claire’s thoughts wandered as she sipped her coffee, ate her breakfast, and looked out the tall windows. For January, the sky was an amazingly clear sapphire blue. Suddenly, she longed to be outside and in the sunshine. The John situation had her heartsick. Maybe some fresh air would give her a new perspective and some ideas to help her family. The beautiful scene outside the window beckoned her to walk, roam, and get away—if only for a few hours. The snow of the last few weeks had melted, yet today it was cold enough to keep the ground solid. Perhaps she would have time for a hike before Tony’s ideas. Maybe she could entice him to walk, too. He might have some ideas to help John.

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Thinking about her walk, Claire finished her shower and left her bathroom considering the appropriate attire—jeans, a sweater, and hiking boots. Her plans didn’t matter. She saw her clothes were laid out. Claire hated that. The assistance with her clothes occurred without predictability since her accident. On her bed were jeans—dressier than she would have chosen—and a blue snug-fitting V-neck sweater—not exactly perfect for hiking—but with the ad***ion of a coat and scarf—it could work.

Then Claire noticed her jewelry on the dressing table. Seriously, it’s morning! Who needs diamonds in the morning? Avoiding an unnecessary confrontation, she did as she was bid—dressed in the clothes and put on the diamond journey necklace, diamond stud earrings, and diamond watch. Her new watch from Switzerland was beautiful, but it sat on her wrist as a constant reminder of punctuality. She’d been late twice—she didn’t need a watch to remind her of Tony’s appreciation. The first time taught her a lesson she’d never forget.

Luckily, there were no shoes set out. She could put on the hiking boots and hope for the best. Although she was pretty sure Tony’s ideas didn’t include shoes—hers did. Maybe he could find his hiking boots, too.

It was almost 10:00 AM by the time she reached his office. She knocked and waited for his permission to enter. She didn’t hear him, but the door opened. When she entered, she saw him seated behind his desk with a shirt and tie, looking so professional, she smiled and quietly sat on the leather sofa away from the webcams and waited for the web conference to finish. It had something to do with a company in Michigan that was losing money. The local government wasn’t willing to give more tax breaks. Were they going to close it or keep it open? The discussion revolved around the potential for future profits. Claire didn’t want to think about it—it would probably result in more unemployed people. She picked up a magazine and began quietly ruffling through the pages.

At 10:45 AM he finally finished. She waited for him to complete whatever he was doing on his computer. Once he was done, she heard his chair turn toward her. “Ahh, blue, my favorite color,” he said eying the sweater, as she walked toward him. “You’re beautiful in any color”—his eyes were appreciative of what he could see and what he couldn’t—“or in no color.” He grinned and reached out to put his hands around her waist. “I have one more web conference at 11:00 AM and then two lunch phone calls. I’d like you back after that.” It sounded like a request—it wasn’t.

“It’s so nice out. I’d like to go for a hike while you are working.” Wording was such an intricate part of her negotiations.

“No. The phone calls may need to be postponed depending on the outcome of the next web conference. I’d like you here if I’m done earlier. We can lunch and discuss our possible afternoon activities.” He’d turned back to his computer screen and read while he spoke.

Claire took a breath, leaned down, and gently kissed his neck. She’d been good—he knew she was upset about her family—she hoped she could press a little more. “Well”—purposely exhaling on his neck—“then may I just go out back? The sky’s so clear and I could really use some fresh air.”

He was obviously engrossed with his computer, but her approach earned her a seductive grin. “Okay, just be back by noon, and could you get me some coffee before you go?”

Claire started to ask where Catherine or another member of the staff was, but deciding that it would delay her trip to the backyard. She kissed his neck. “Yes.”

In the kitchen she found coffee still warm in the pot. She added cream, carried it back to his office, and waited. It was now 10:57 AM.

Tony rummaged through some papers and simultaneously spoke on his iPhone. Hanging up, he said, “Tell Eric there are contracts at the Iowa City office. I need them here before 1:00 PM. He needs to get them immediately.” Claire thought about how Tony was trying to keep her busy at home. She really didn’t mind; however, she wanted to go on her walk. He must have read the question in her eyes. “And after that, go for your walk, just be back by noon.”

She smiled and kissed his cheek. “Okay. I’ll tell Eric and be back.” She hurried off to find Eric. Claire asked Catherine about Eric’s whereabouts and explained she’d be in the backyard or gardens if Mr. Rawlings needed her before noon.

Catherine directed Claire to Eric’s apartment, attached to the main garage. Claire started back toward the garages, a walk she rarely took. She didn’t drive, and when she went anywhere Eric or Tony picked her up at the front door. The walkway between the main house and garages was beautiful. The windows on both sides continued the full length of the hall and were so clear they seemed invisible.

She looked at the sky and thought about her sister and brother-in-law. Emily sounded so distraught on the phone last night. The fact Tony reminded her to call was a miracle in itself. The fact she spoke on speaker phone was expected. Claire couldn’t believe John was actually in jail. The charges of embezzlement and fictitious client billing were ludicrous. John would never cheat on a test; much less do any of these things. That was what made John such an amazing attorney—he was honest to a fault. Claire had tried to reassure Emily. She wanted to go to her and help; however, Tony would never allow that. Perhaps she could send money for John’s defense. After all, wasn’t Tony telling her all the time how much capital she possessed? If money wasn’t good for accomplishing what you want—what good was it?

Her thoughts quickly changed to the beautiful cars as she entered the garages. Tony definitely liked his cars. Claire knew they’d multiple new ones since her arrival. It was too bad she didn’t drive. Sighing, she thought, it has been almost two years.

Light filtered from under the apartment door as Claire knocked. Eric immediately answered. What she could see of his apartment looked like a nicely decorated living room with an attached dining area.

“Yes, Mrs. Rawlings, may I help you?”

“Eric, Mr. Rawlings said there are some contracts at his Iowa City office which he must have by 1:00 PM. If you go immediately you’ll be back in time.” As Claire spoke, Eric grabbed his coat and hat. He unlocked a cabinet on the wall containing keys to all the cars, took out the keys to the BMW 7 Series, and shut the cabinet.

Hurriedly, Eric looked at his watch. “Ma’am, tell Mr. Rawlings I’ll be back before 12:30 PM.” He got into the car.

“I will, drive safely.” Claire figured it could wait until she saw him at noon. As Eric pulled out of the garage, Claire noticed the key cabinet—it hadn’t shut properly—revealing the keys to multiple cars. Suddenly nervous, Claire contemplated the keys. She should shut the cabinet and go out to the backyard for air, or she could take a set of keys and drive to as much air as she wanted. She wasn’t thinking air for a lifetime, only enough air to breathe.

The decision took only seconds, yet it seemed like an eternity. She reached in, grabbed the first set she touched, and hit the clicker. The lights on the Mercedes Benz flashed. In the midst of unpredictability, she’d done her best to be stable and obedient. This sudden impulsiveness filled her with excitement and fear. Before she could change her mind, she sat in the car, smelled the new car aroma, felt the leather steering wheel, and turned the key.

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Her motivation wasn’t to leave Tony—forever. It was just that she felt smothered. The constant monitoring, censoring, and controlling added to her sense of psychological instability. The dual Tonys added another dimension to her suffocation. A brief reprieve—or a momentary freedom—would help her sanity. Besides, she told her husband a year ago she liked to drive. That was all she wanted to do—drive.

Do not bite at the bait of pleasure, till you know there is no hook beneath it.

—Thomas Jefferson

Chapter Forty-Seven

‡

The dashboard in front of her looked more like something from a helicopter, dials and lights came to life. Claire tried to remain calm—telling herself driving hadn’t changed in twenty-two months. She just needed to put the car in gear and push the accelerator. Trembling at the prospect of the simplistic task, Claire almost ran into the garage door; however, she remembered to push the button, waited for the door to lift, and concentrated on breathing—slowly inhaling and exhaling. The door opened, and cautiously, she proceeded down the driveway. Claire prayed if anyone saw the car, they’d assume it was Eric. At the gates, she again pushed a button—the one she’d seen Eric push many times. At first, the gates seemed to hesitate, but then the iron fence swung wide.

Claire drove toward Highway I-80 and inhaled. It was the sweetest air she’d smelled in almost two years. The clock on the dashboard read 11:16 AM. She knew in forty-four minutes, Tony would expect her in his office. She reasoned perhaps the web conference would go long and he wouldn’t notice her absence—or maybe, the phone calls would start, and he’d be preoccupied. She knew the truth—Tony could do ten things at once. Come 12:00:01 PM he’d be irritated—by 12:15 PM—he’d be fuming. Feeling her heart beat intensify, she wondered what would happen when they reunited. What kind of punishment would he decide was appropriate for this behavior? Feeling her wet palms slide on the leather steering wheel, Claire chose not to linger on the possibilities. The Mercedes was now headed east on Highway I-80. Her mind searched for possible destinations. Courtney—no—she was out of town. Emily—no—that would be the first place Tony would check. Utilizing her therapy skills, she convinced herself this was a deserved break. She also instructed herself to relish the overpowering sensation of freedom, a feeling she hadn’t known in twenty-two months. Slowly, she felt her senses awaken: the countryside looked brighter, the leather seats emitted a stronger aroma, the wheels on the pavement created a soft hum, and the vibration responded to her movement of the wheel—it all invigorated her.

The brilliant dash indicated a full tank of gas. Silently, she thanked Eric—momentarily worrying he’d suffer because of her actions. She concentrated on the majestic world outside the windows and watched the traffic which consisted mostly of large semi-trucks. At first, this made Claire uncomfortable, but the Mercedes could weave and pass easily. Before moving to Tony’s, she drove a Honda Accord. It was a good car, but the Mercedes felt like driving a cloud. Then, the clock caught her eye, 12:11 PM. She started to wonder what was happening at home. Would he be looking for her or sending someone else to look? All Claire could do now was drive and think. She loved him, but the constant pressure was wearing on her. She just needed a break.

Taking the bypass around Davenport, she decided to go south on Highway 74, away from New York City. At 3:30 PM she passed Peoria, Illinois. The emptiness in her stomach reminded her she hadn’t stopped driving since she left the estate. She desperately needed a restroom and some food. In the distance she spotted golden arches—french fries sounded wonderful.

She hadn’t eaten fast-food in almost two years. Claire turned the wheel and eased into the McDonald’s parking lot. Contemplating her order, she realized she didn’t have money. Oh well, the restroom was free. If she had planned this excursion, she would have grabbed a coat and her purse. More than likely Tony had her ID and cre*** card, but for appearances, she usually had cash in her wallet.

The overpowering aroma of fries, from the inside of the restaurant, lingered on her clothes as she got back into the car. Wondering about money, she saw her wedding rings. Of course—she wore hundreds of thousands of dollars’ worth of jewelry. She just needed to sell some. How does one sell jewelry? And where?

Back on the interstate, Claire decided to take Highway 155 South to Highway 55. That wasn’t a good decision, Highway 55 traveled slowly. When she finally reached Highway 55 the signs said to Springfield and to St. Louis. It had been so long since she actually made decisions. She was lightheaded with independence—or perhaps hunger.

Time passed. The sun started to fade and dusk loomed on the horizon. The loss of sunlight produced a similar effect on Claire’s mind. Her lightheadedness dissolved into reality. She knew without a doubt she needed to turn around. Tony would be upset and there would be a punishment—a consequence for this action, but she couldn’t keep going. First, she needed cash. Second, what would the press say? Tony wouldn’t be happy if her leaving became public. Trepidation filled every ounce of her being as she watched for a place to turn around. According to the sign, there was another exit two miles ahead.

Suddenly, questions swirled through her mind. Was there enough gas to get home? What will Tony do? Whatever punishment he chose, Claire decided—she deserved. She’d been impulsive and broken his rules. The small break was exhilarating, but it was time to face the consequences—there wasn’t another choice. If she had her cell phone, she would’ve called and told him she was on her way home. She planned to beg for his forgiveness and plead temporary—impulsive stupi***y.

Lost in thought, she didn’t see the flashing lights until they were directly behind her. Once she noticed them, Claire assumed they’d pass. She wasn’t speeding, but the police car didn’t pass. Did Tony send them after her? How did they find her? Pulling over, she remembered the GPS—had she really thought she could go unmonitored? She appeared casual as the policeman approached her window.

“Ma’am, please show me your registration, proof of insurance, and driver’s license.”

“Officer, I believe I left my purse at home, by mistake. I can show you the registration and proof of insurance.” She handed him the documents from the glove compartment.

“Ma’am, your name please?” the officer asked, while reading the registration and insurance card.

“My name—my name is Claire—Claire Rawlings.”

Handing her back the registration and insurance card, the officer said, “Ma’am, I need you to get out of your car.”

Claire didn’t want to get out of the car. She wanted to go home. Her decision was made, and she needed to get home—soon. “Officer, was I speeding?”

“Ma’am, get out of the car—now.” The policeman stared at her as he mumbled into his shoulder.

“Officer, I’m in a hurry. I don’t have my purse, but I do have this watch. Perhaps your wife would like a very nice diamond watch.” She was desperate to return to Iowa—to Tony—but not in a police car.

Retrieving his gun from its holster, the police officer repeated his demand, “Mrs. Rawlings, I need you to get out of the car, and keep your hands where I can see them.” Holding his gun in one hand, he leaned toward her door. “Unlock your door; I’ll open it. Let me see your hands.”

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Claire couldn’t believe this was happening. She just wanted a moment of freedom and this policeman was treating her like a criminal. Had Tony accused her of stealing his car? That didn’t seem like Tony—he wouldn’t want the public scandal.

Claire unlocked the door and swung her legs out. Officer Friendly roughly grabbed her wrist and pulled, handcuffing her wrists behind her back. It made her shoulders and wrists ache. “What are you doing? Why are you doing this? I didn’t steal this car—it belongs to my husband. I have every right to drive it!”

“Ma’am, I have orders to take you into the station for questioning.” He walked her to his car, steering her with her hands.

“What about my husband’s car? He’ll be very upset if anything happens to his car.” Claire’s voice sounded as desperate as she felt.

“Another officer is on her way, she’ll drive your car to the station. It’ll be kept in impound until it’s picked up or you’re released”—he kept listening to his shoulder—“The other officer will be here in a few minutes.”

“We better not leave until she gets here. I’m serious about my husband—he can become very upset. You don’t want to be the person he gets hold of if anything happens to his car.” She didn’t want to be that person either. Sitting in the backseat of the patrol car, she heard the door slam and had the sensation of a popping balloon—once full—now completely deflated. Freedom was sweet and gone.

When they pulled up to the Illinois State Police Station 56, Claire watched the Mercedes drive around the building. Worrying about the car was silly, but she didn’t want to give Tony more ammunition for his punishment. The officer directed her into the station. Multiple uniformed and plain-clothed officers met them at the door. She was then directed to a dingy room where the smell of stale coffee and perspiration filled her senses. The only furniture was a steel gray table with two metal chairs. Claire sat in one of the cold chairs as the officer removed the cuffs. Rubbing her wrists, she looked at him and sounded convincingly resilient. “Sir, I am Mrs. Anthony Rawlings. I’m sure you have heard of my husband—or at least had contact with one of his companies. I recommend you release me right now, and I won’t tell him about this incident.”

He didn’t respond and left her alone, where she waited. Feeling the twisting within her stomach, she knew what was coming. Tony was probably on his way. Flying would get him there in less than an hour. The next time the door opened, she would see his dark eyes. The only sound within the small room was that familiar pounding within her head. As she waited, she resolved herself to the consequences she’d face at home.

She broke the most important rule—many times—and now it was public. There was no way this wouldn’t be on the news. She waited. The door opened. A female officer entered. “Mrs. Rawlings, would you like a drink, water, or diet soda?”

“Thank you, I’d like some water.” Then she waited—some more. The next time the door opened, she looked toward the table. Enough time had passed—this had to be Tony.

“Mrs. Rawlings, I’m Sergeant Miles and this”—pointing to the man on his left—“is FBI Agent Ferguson.”

“Hello. I’m confused, why is an FBI agent here?”

“We would like to ask you some questions about today”—Claire nodded—“Ma’am, you must speak. Our conversation is recorded and movements can’t be heard on an audiotape.”

Claire hated recordings—audio or visual. “Yes, please go ahead and ask me anything. I was just driving my husband’s car and forgot my driver’s license.”

“Ma’am, what time did you leave your residence outside of Iowa City?” Agent Ferguson asked as Sergeant Miles took notes.

Claire wondered if the audio recording wasn’t thorough enough. “I left at 11:15 AM.” That was easy. She’d looked at the dashboard clock.

“Did you see your husband before you left?”

“Do you mean—did I ask my husband if I could leave? No.”

“No, ma’am—I meant what I asked. Did you see your husband before you left your residence?”

“Yes, I saw him just before 11:00 AM. He was in his office about to start a web conference.”

“A web conference?” Sargent Miles asked.

“It’s a conference that’s live on the Internet, you know, on the web.” The officers continued to ask questions about times and people. Claire told them the house staff were all present, except for their driver, Eric. He left before her, going to Mr. Rawlings’s office to retrieve some paperwork for her husband. Had Claire told anyone she was leaving the house? She shook her head, then remembered the audio tape, she answered, “No.” Why would she drive over five hours without her purse or telling anyone where she was going? She really didn’t have a good answer. She couldn’t tell them she didn’t have access to her own ID and she wasn’t allowed to go out by herself. If she did, she’d be breaking his rules, and when Tony arrived he’d be livid. Suddenly, she realized he was probably watching from behind a window right now. She felt her stomach twist. Her only choice was ignorance. “I don’t know—the sky was so pretty and Iowa can get so gray. I guess I just wanted to go somewhere warmer.”

“Mrs. Rawlings, you should know your husband will survive.” Agent Ferguson’s tone was flat.

Claire didn’t understand, survive? Like he would crumble because she left him? “I’m not sure what you mean. Why wouldn’t he survive?”

“Mrs. Rawlings, someone tried to kill your husband today. He was poisoned at approximately 11:15 AM this morning.” Agent Ferguson answered as Sergeant Miles observed Claire.

She shook her head, trying to make sense of his words, but they didn’t make sense. Tony was fine when she left, same as always. “You’re mistaken. Mr. Rawlings had a web conference at 11:00 AM, where he was speaking with many people from his corporation.” Her speech quickened as did her heart rate.

“Yes, he was supposed to be; however, after the web conference began, his associates witnessed him take a drink from a mug and suddenly slump to his side. Many of the viewers attempted to reach him via cell phone, but he didn’t move. Luckily, one of the house staff heard the phones ringing and entered the office. They were able to fly him by helicopter to a hospital in Iowa City. His vitals are good, although he has yet to regain consciousness. The doctors believe he’ll make a full recovery. I’m here representing the FBI, because this is an attempted murder investigation which has crossed state lines.” Agent Ferguson spoke as if he was addressing a suspect.

“I need to get to him immediately.” Claire stood as she spoke. Sergeant Miles directed her back toward the chair. She was dumbfounded. “I’m sorry—are you accusing me of murdering my husband?”

“No, ma’am, your husband wasn’t murdered. You are being questioned regarding an attempted murder investigation.”

She was stunned. “You’re accusing me of hurting him? You should know—no one hurts Anthony Rawlings. If anything he’s hurt me—numerous times.”

“So, are you claiming self-defense?”

Claire’s neck stiffened, her voice became defiant, “I’m not claiming anything—I did nothing that needs claiming.”